


In A Day

by ozirj



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Creamsicle - Freeform, First Time, Intimacy, M/M, Making Out, Marijuana usage, NSFW, Slightly manipulative Freddy, after they get tacos, in larry's hotel room
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 12:11:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2732012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozirj/pseuds/ozirj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orange spends a Californian day with White, they get to know each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I've been working on for a bit. Reservoir Dogs is one of my favorite movies and I hope I did White and Orange justice in this. It's something that will get more explicit as I add chapters. 
> 
> By the next chapter I'll add in all the locations I'm talking about in the actual fanfiction (places that I've known my whole life and am very familiar with) and will add notes on certain things so it will help with the visual of things. I'd greatly appreciate feedback because I love writing the both of them and want to make sure I only improve to make myself and everyone else happy.
> 
> (I'm also gunna post a playlist for them soon which I feel loosely follows their story-line in the movie, mood wise)

They’re in the taco shack by 3:32 PM and out by 4:19 PM. White hassles for his car keys when one of the links gets snagged onto a loose string inside his pocket. Orange’s shaking his head, squinting behind his RayBans and he knocks on the roof of the hot car a couple times as he waits. He looks down at himself, spots a dark crusted splatter of salsa on his collar and he curses as he picks at it with a dirty fingernail. He reminds himself to clean out his nail beds and clip his them when he gets back home.

“Alright, get the fuck in.” White’s huffing in annoyance after he’s able to retrieve his keys. He practically throws himself down onto the driver's seat and slams the door shut before he can barely throw his left leg into the car. White reaches over and pulls up the lock on the passenger's door for Orange. Orange jumps in as White’s shoving his keys into the ignition and messes with the column shift. He tilts his rearview mirror and leans down to the window crank to bring his window all the way down. White backs out of the parking lot behind the restaurant and he stays silent as he concentrates on getting onto the road. Orange reaches over to switch the radio on to fill the silence; the first channel he lands on plays ‘Touch Me’ lowly. 

They’re in Lennox, on a shady corner, with sellers out in broad daylight. The heat shakes along the asphalt of the road and Orange reaches to his temple to wipe away pearls of sweat that dare to fall down the raise of his cheekbone. The streets are packed and he knows it’s going to be a bit longer before they get to White’s room, or wherever the hell he’s staying at. 

“It’s hot as hell out here, good food though.” White’s speaks up over the sound of the radio as they get on the main road, down onto Hawthorne. They get past Chip’s Dinner and then the plaza until Orange finally realizes White was talking to him.

He nods, dazed from the heat. “Fuckin’ L.A. man.” 

White snickers, slows to a stop at a red light and reaches for his ass to pull out his pack of smokes. The Camel’s are smashed a bit from his weight but he flips open the box and pulls a cigarette out. He gets it between his lips right as the traffic light flicks to a dull green. 

“Kid, light me up, don’t even know where my fucking lighter is.” White pat’s around himself with one hand and waves an index finger with his other hand at Orange to catch his attention. 

Orange pushes into his front pocket, pulls out a bright red lighter and leans into White. White pushes into the reach and sticks his cigarette out more as he watches the road. Orange’s clammy fingers struggle with the lighters igniter and he finally gets the flame up once he roughly pushes his thumb against its slippery ridges. The flame flickers violently from the wind rolling through White’s window. He lets White lay his cigarette on the flame for as long as he needs. White finally pulls away, takes a drag and exhales for it to fume from his nose. 

Orange’s goes slack as he watches White’s nostrils flare a couple time. White smiles at him, slips him a look from the corner of his eye and tightens his grip a bit more on the steering wheel. There’s a low pumping beat of Al Green going through the speakers of the car now and White’s cruising down the street, practically empty as they’ve passed up the traffic. 

White turns his head to Orange, “I’ve been tryna put my finger on it and now I know; you looks like that guy, that David guy.”

“What the fuck are you on about?” An ounce of fear bubbles within Orange. He doesn’t know who this David guy is and if he wants to be him.

“The statue, by Michelangelo, I think-- maybe the Leonardo guy.” White grips his cigarette tighter in his lips and he’s almost mumbling like he’s smoking a cigar.

“Probably Michelangelo.” 

White huff's, “Well ya’- you look like him.” 

Orange laughs, he doesn’t question the odd analyzation and comparison. He doesn’t quite know what to say so he sticks his elbow out the window seal and says nothing at all. It’s more than often that White introduced some odd information that doesn’t relate to anything they’d discussed prior to when the topics first mentioned. 

They hold at the intersection for some kids crossing the street. It’s still early enough for them to be walking around, on one of the corners there’s a middle school and they’re collecting like rats outside a donut shop. Orange watches them, wonders if any of them will ever have to be in his situation. If he thought at their age he’d be right here, right now. Sitting next to a killer with history engraved into his hands. Shooting places up by seventeen and killing before the average man can pay his rent steadily. 

“I don’t know how people nowadays can only be walking around with one kid on their hands. Back where I’m from, you either had sixteen cousins or six siblings. You had to have a big family.” 

Orange takes the cigarette from his mouth, taps it outside the window and keeps it there. “Where ya’ from?” Orange hesitates to ask, concerned about pushing some of the unspoken boundaries of their relationship thus far. 

White answers easy, puts the filter to his mouth again. The rod down to a nub by now and he takes the last drag from it, tosses it from the window, “Up north.” Orange nods, wonder if he’ll go on but he stays cool, doesn’t push. Let’s White give up what he’s comfortable with. Orange watches White steam smoke from his nose and it must’ve hurt to much because he stops halfway through, let’s it seep from his mouth and the process is in slow motion, a bit hypnotic. The kind where you catch someone by themselves doing their usual things, the small things. He just wants to get to his place fast, let him get the shit he needs and then have a ride to some phony hotel he’s supposedly staying at. Doesn’t know why they had to go so far for some tacos and remembers how good they were and he stops complaining. They got a little buzzed, some questions thrown around. Buddy stuff, ‘What’s the worst thing you’ve nutted to’ or ‘Last time you went to the strip club.’. Alright, maybe not so buddy, it could be a level above buddy. Orange shifts his knees and looks away from White’s thick arms. Where he’s been staring for way too long.

White keeps down the road, and Orange tightens his face. It’s been a rough time working with White so far. From the first night they met at the bar to today for lunch it’s been real fucking hard for Orange to not watch White with his jaw slack and his leg shaking nervously. Damn, fucking Orange could reach over right now. Push his hand down onto White’s dick and knead him hard until he’s thick. Jerk him off right here in the car while they creep up to the hotel, finish him off in the parking lot and have White drag his sorry ass up into his dingy room so the old bastard can get hard again and gag him with his whole damn cock. 

“Holy fucking shit”, Orange grinds his words into his teeth and they spew out onto the back of his hand. He’s shaking his head and he stares out the window now, hand up to his face and the other hangs out the window, grips onto the roof of the car. 

“What was that?”, White peaks his nose up and gives Orange a glance that he can’t see but Orange just waves his hand to avoid an actual answer to White’s concerns. He start to unbuckle his seat belt when they begin to pull into the parking lot. White scoffs but ignores Orange anyways. He makes sure to pull into an empty spot with some shade, doesn’t like to wash out the leather seats of the car. White looks over at Orange, gives him a sway of the head asking silently if he’s coming in or not. Orange nods, swallows and his adams apple bobs so hard he can practically feel it move under his skin. He doesn’t know if he can rely on himself well enough at this point to keep his complete cool around White. 

Orange jumps out quickly, pats around for his smokes and lights himself up. He holds it in his teeth the whole time, tries to relax his edge. White get’s out smoothly, adjusts his shoulders and locks the car behind him. Orange rolls his jaw around and they head towards the stairs in the lot, that leads into the building behind a glass door. White’s holding the door open for Orange and he glances around, always keeps an eye out. Orange flicks his cigarette away onto the black pavement before he’s is skipping up the steps, two at a time and waits for White at the top. 

“Asshole,” White speaks to his own feet as he looks down, watching his step, ascending towards Orange. Orange glances at the bold ‘No Smoking’ sign next to the elevator in the hallway he waits in now. White’s still got his own smoke in his mouth and there’s ash spilling on the carpet bit by bit with every step he takes. White pushes Orange by the bicep when he get’s up to him at the top of the stairs. 

“Last door on the left.” White nods his head over to the left side of the hall. 

Orange steps up to the door, A24, on the floor level, right next to the ice machine and elevator. White talks as they walk inside, fulfills some sort of special wiggle with the door handle to unlatch it. 

Orange’s catches the door behind the both of them. He latches it, chain and bolt. Orange looks around, watches as White kicks off his shoes and leaves them by the couch. He glances at the forgotten shoes, supposes it means they’ll be staying here for a while more. 

The couch is dingy, it has corduroy brown fabric and a small circled burn mark in the middle cushion. It faces the TV sitting on a long wooden dresser that probably shouldn’t be used at as a fucking television stand. Besides these three things the living room is desolate. The kitchen is made up of a fridge that he could sit on top of if he hauled himself onto it, empty cabinets, a sink with one coffee mug and stovetop where a pot of uneaten chili is making a home. This is all he can see when he first walks in, the two ridiculously small rooms are separated by the kitchens open bar window. On top of it are White’s car keys and wallet. Orange stares at the items before he goes to stand at the bar counter and push them over. Right after he does, White comes into the kitchen from the back of the hotel room, two unadventured doors remain in the flat that Orange hopes he can get his hands on. 

White apologizes silently for the “mess” he has by cleaning out the pot of food on the stove and leaving it to soak in the sink. He goes to the fridge, pulls it open. Inside the treasures of a quart jug of milk, a six slot carton of eggs and flour tortillas with four beers on the door reside. He pulls two out and Orange notes the offering. White closes the fridge with his knee & hands a chilled can of Modelo over to Orange.

The room is right on the edge of a main street. It would be silent if it weren’t for the constant honking of cars and beeping of a crosswalk sign. White sets his beer on the counter and he tosses his cigarette into the sink, where is sizzles for a second and silents out. “I’m waiting for Joe to call us in,” White leans up against the kitchen counter casually.

Orange knew they were going to organize a meeting tonight, he just didn’t know he’d be waiting out that time between lunch and then with White. He should have suspected it though, being that he hasn’t askws White to drop him off at home. They talked so much at the taco shack that they ran out of fuel to start up a conversation currently. 

It seems like they’re both okay with the silence as they finish up their beers. White walks over to the living room and sits down on the couch. Orange leans back on the counter and lays low, tries to make himself as comfortable as possible. White leans over and grabs the controler for the TV from the coffee table, switching the small black box on. Some re-run of Saturday Night Live is playing and Orange is sure it’s one he’s seen already but his attention is drawn to the grainy picture. 

The overall quality is staticy and now Orange begins to question why White’s staying in such a shitty place to begin with. He seems like the kind of guy to spend good money on a good room in a decent hotel. He doesn’t ponder long on the fact after White turns around and pats the couch cushion next to him, “Come sit kid, it’ll be a bit ‘till I get the call from Joe. After the meeting I need to go pick up my suit from the dry cleaners, you can come with or I can drop you off at home on the way.”

“Whatever’s easy for you man.” Orange goes around the opposite end of the couch from where White is sitting and purposely sets his leg on his knee when he sits down, creates as much space between them as possible. Orange laughs to himself a bit, knows how ridiculous he’s acting. Not only is he a cop but he’s a grown fucking man that needs to get his game together. He taps his index finger on his knee waiting silently and nods his head at SNL every here and there. There’s a comfortable silence between them through the ten minutes the show it running. Right when the chime of a McDonald’s commercial hits after the fade out of a scene comes White stands up and tosses Orange the remote, “Stay here, I’ll be back in a sec.” 

White walks away and Orange looks around the back of the couch to watch him once again disappear past the kitchen into the two rooms in the back. For the few lonely minutes that pass, Orange fiddles with the small TV remote and calculates how long he’s been out with White today after he catches a glance at the digital clock that’s on the TV stand. They started off with the drive in the morning, White picked him up around 1 P.M. to go to the heist location. They were there for no more than an hour and they went straight to get lunch afterwards. By the time they were done it had been three hours they were together. The ride home was 50 minutes with minor traffic, thankfully San Fernando Valley not being ridiculously far from Hawthorne. Orange’s now been in White hotel room for about an hour. In total, he’s been with White for five hours so far today. He assumes it will be about four more hours until he gets taken home. By the end of the day he’d have spent more time with this man than he has with his own mother in the past three years. Being only less than ten hours, it’s depressing and he mildly considers ringing his mom up when he gets back home. 

White walks back in right when Orange wraps up his whole recollection of the evening that he had going on in his head. SNL seems to be wrapping up and White sits down as the whole casts gets together to have the host end the show. He’s holding a medium sized wooden box with a tiny latch on the front. It’s simple, dark with a diamond burned on the top. Nothing special but it’s out of place when he takes it into the room. When he unlatches it in his lap, there’s an even smaller tin box in it. The dingy tin box is banged up and decorated with a faded out image of a pin up girl. White sets the tin box aside on the cushion between him and Orange. Orange eye catches the dark blue glass pipe that sits in the box next to a thin pack of rolling paper and a silver metal grinder. It finally hits him that this is White’s stash box. Orange chuckles harshly and scratches at the side of his head. He lightens up, supposes the box was something a tad bit more nefarious than some weed. 

White smiles at him from across the couch, “I’m assuming you wanna join in, right?”

Orange laughs, motions with his hand in agreement, “Sure.” 

White pulls out the pipe from the box and holds it as he latches up the wooden box again and sets it down by his feet. He carefully takes off the top of the tin where he hides all his buds with the hand that holds the pipe and takes out one of the smaller nuggets. He motions the tin box to Orange, “Take it from me and close it up will ya’?” 

Orange grabs it slowly from White and makes sure everything fits back in place. He looks around and decides on setting the box on the couch's armrest closest to him. When he turns back around White is splitting the nugget messily and packing it down. Orange reaches into his own pocket for his lighter so White doesn’t have to and passes it to him. He stares at White as the older man opens up the flame with the glass pipe to his mouth. White inhales hard and coughs lightly once after Orange see’s him tense up his chest. It’s an action that’s something slightly more than erotic and it makes Orange want to whine, but he clenches his jaw instead and swallows when White hands the pipe and lighter to him when he’s gotten his fill. White blows any smoke away from Orange and Orange supposes this is one of the best ways he’s taken to pass time in quite a while.


	2. Sweet Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im quite the procrastinator everyone, and i decided im still not completely done. next chapter will be a brief closing of things. 
> 
> thanks to everyone who was so patient and waited for this terrible chapter lol. i impatiently ignored any of the major edits that needed to be made to this chapter and ill most likely return to it by the final chapter. 
> 
> *minor edits were made to chapter 1

They’d smoked through a few grams now, taking it slow and they’re both mellow. Relaxing and staying calm in one another’s presence. It’s been a little less than an hour and they had switched the new episode of SNL to watch a rerun of The Simpsons. White honestly would prefer flipping on the radio and listening to music for the next half an hour. Maybe some Curtis Mayfield or Santana is what he’s feeling right now. His thinking process is a bit muddy at the moment so he just lets the idea fade away before getting too stuck on it. He’s been paying attention to the shorts fits of laughter Orange has while watching the cartoon, so he settles with getting a little joy out of the show for the moment. 

Orange is very unworried about everything that’s currently happening on this earth right now and it’s mostly great, yet, a bit frustrating. His jitters are down and this is the best time he’s had in awhile, all he’s fucking doing is sitting around with a man twice his age watching cartoons and getting high. He mainly feels like a freshman in highschool hanging with some seniors at a college frat party, and the idea makes him laugh out loud because it’s the kind of shit he dreamed of doing as a ninth grader. Here he is now, living it out metaphorically, and this metaphorical senior he’s toking with is a man he just might or might not be red in the face for. 

Throughout their pleasing high, there has been a rising tension.White’s calculating this tension on an entirely different range than Orange is. Orange is used to this lightened sense of unease, since he's found himself experiencing discomfort with many things he’s ventured through in life. 

White's not too keen to any type of nervous energy. He wants to make sure his life is as stress free as possible. Which, honestly, is one of his most unrealistic goals. He tries to ignore it, so far, his and Orange’s bond has been great. Maybe better than great, pretty fucking good if you ask him. This kid is interesting, he's got a spark for a flame that White is sure has lit many people's hearts (and maybe their fire's). He's glad he's working with one other person that seems to have normal communication skills while having their head screwed on tight enough for this kind of job. They haven't opened up to each other much, but how long do you need to know about someone to at least feel like they've done well for themselves and the people around them. 

White doesn't even ponder on the bad shit Orange might have done in his young life so far. He can't even imagine that Orange has done so much bad that he would need to worry about it. If Joe's got him with the rest of the team, then what's the worst that Orange has done? No worse than him, that's for sure. 

Orange looks up from the TV. "Are you good? Cause I'm good, very good. Baked to a warm and delightful crisp."

The smile Orange gives White is lazy but whole hearted. White nods, there's only ash in the pipe anyways, so he stands up and walks to the kitchen. He dumps out the ash in the sink and washes it all away. He'll clean up the rest of the pipe tomorrow morning. He leans over the side of the couch and slowly picks up all his shit.

Orange watches White work meticulously while he cleans up the mess. He would try to help but he doesn't know how touchy White is with his personal belongings. Anyways, he feels like he’s only got the energy in him to take off and lay his head down for a nap. A long, eight hour nap. 

 

White stands up straight once he's done tidying up. He holds the wooden box under an arm, "You want me to take you home?" 

"It's illegal to drive under the influence, y'know, Mr. White." Orange jokes, he's not too sure if the sarcasm in his tone is noticeable. 

"Yeah, and it's illegal to smoke weed in your own home, kid. People gotta break the rules, that's just how we're written. C'mon, I'll take you home.", White shifts his head in the direction of the door and Orange starts to sit up.

"No, no, no, it's fine man. I'll catch a cab, don't you worry." 

Orange stands up from the couch, wobbles a bit and starts patting his pockets for his wallet. When he gets it out to check how much cash he's got, White snatches it out of his hand and Orange looks up, shocked. 

"What the hell are you-"

"You really think you're gunna go downstairs in the middle of crusty ass Hawthorne and find a fucking cab. This ain't downtown, you most likely won't even get lucky. You're too used to living in the inner city, no one is gunna pick you up over here. I'm taking you home, consider it a solid if the idea of someone treating you like a friend is so troubling." 

White doesn't mean for his words to come off with a tinge of aggression, but they do and he can see the affects of it on Orange’s face. Orange knits his brows and glances at his open wallet still hanging between White's index finger and thumb. 

Orange speaks softly, "I'm sorry man, that's not what I was tryna say at all. Hope you didn't take it the wrong way, I really do appreciate it-" 

"Fuck, no, it's fine," White hands Orange his wallet back and sighs, "I didn't mean for it to sound like that." 

Orange swallows down the lump in his throat and he chuckles. White looks up, "Let me just, put this back, and then I'll get my keys and shit." 

"Alright." 

White clears his throat, the misunderstanding put him a little on edge, "Follow me actually, I got something to give ya." 

Orange gets lucky, maybe he can finally spot out anything interesting to help his case if White's going to take him into the back of the apartment. In his current state though, he’s not sure if he’ll be able to remember all the details by the morning. He follow behind White though as he backs out of the living room and into the kitchen. Orange’s legs are like cement and his neck feels like putty but he does his best to stand up right and stay attentive. They head for the first door in the hallway and White speaks up, "Sorry I didn't show you my whole place when we first got here, I'm a horrible host."

"You shared your alcohol and drugs, I think that should cover not sharing the more private parts of your living situation." 

White laughs and opens up the door, "Yeah, guess so, huh?" 

Orange peeks inside as soon as he can, he doesn't overstep his bounds though and he stays by the door stop while White goes inside. This seems to be his room. There is a queen sized bed with a grey bedspread and two, White, thick pillows. The bed is very neatly made, barely a wrinkle in sight. There's no TV, on the farthest wall is the closet, with two mirrored, sliding doors. There is a small round table being used as night stand, by its feet is a stack of books. Orange can't make out the titles, but they're all novel sized with hardcovers. The table holds a dirty ashtray, an off-White house phone and a dim lamp. When he sees the lamp he realizes the lights in the room are off. He can see White quite clearly in the warm shade of the room though. He is on his knees by the left side of the bed, sliding his stash box under the skirt of the bed frame. He stands up and turns around to slide open the right hand door to his closet. Orange doesn't spot anything out of the ordinary in the room so he lays off the hyper analyzation of his surroundings. 

Orange makes eye contact with White in the reflection of the mirror and Orange reaches a hand up to rub at his opposite arm nervously. He's not too sure what White's about to pull out of the closet or what this gift might be. Thankfully, his interest keeps him enthusiastic, the high pushing him on, and he’s about 87% positive White wouldn’t turn on him now. 

White sticks his head in the dark closet, he shuffles around and things click and clank while he digs through it. He seems to be trying to get to the bottom right hand corner and when he does, he quickly stands up straight, something hidden in his fist. Orange can't make it out in the lighting of the room but he mentally prepares himself for whatever it might be. White closes the closet door and walks around the bed to Orange. He puts his hands behind his back and moves them around. Orange chuckles and shakes his head when he realizes what White's about to do. White grins and puts both his fists out, they're pretty huge, now that Orange is able to really look them over. He didn't know someone could have handsome hands but White's really pulling it off.

"Pick a hand, any hand." 

Orange scoffs, "What am I, eight?" 

"Jesus, lighten up, you sound about fifteen if you're really asking." 

"Oh, shut up." 

Orange doesn't put any thought into it and quickly chooses the left fist. White opens it up slowly and all that's revealed is White's empty, calloused palm. 

Orange clicks his tongue at the sight and White immediately opens up the other fist, which holds a small clear baggie. Dark green bud is tightly stuffed into the baggie, "Just a little take home gift, I guess. It's a little stronger than what we just smoked. You got equipment at home right?" 

Orange can't believe they're bonding over weed but he just nods in response, he's got a small bong and rolling papers. The baggie is handed to him and he takes it, holds it carefully in his palm. Orange switches it from hand to hand and speaks lowly, with as much sincerity he can currently muster up, "Thanks man." 

"Yeah, of course, anytime." 

Orange’s high is beginning to peak and from here on it will only fade further but the dream-like weight he feels starts to make up for the empty feeling of his heavy body.

Orange feels vulnerable and he's sure White can sense it. 

 

He chews on his bottom lip for a moment. He splits his dry lip chewing at the skin. Orange sees White's attention drift down as the motion catches his eye, "You've been in the business a while, huh? Do you usually take newbies out for lunch and invite them into your home?" 

 

Orange feels more comfortable than he probably should at the moment and he knows he needs to get a hold of himself or he’ll regret it later. Even though he seems to have fallen too deep down the rabbit hole at this point. 

"Now that you bring it up, we don't usually get reliable newbies, kid. Consider yourself lucky." 

Orange leans on the doorframe now, he slips the baggie into his back pocket, it's done slowly, calculated. He doesn't want to break the eye contact or create any distractions, "Well, the V.I.P treatment has been special."

"You just gotta take special chances when they present themselves." 

Orange’s chest tightens in anticipation. A wave of nervousness flows over him as he considers every possible consequence of what’s sparking in the air. The last thing he imagined himself doing when signing up for this job was lighting every moral boundary he has aflame. Incinerated to an ash. 

Orange falters and tests the now lukewarm waters, "You still want to take me home, Mr. White?" 

White chuckles, the rise in his cheeks makes Orange’s neck heat up and it creeps up to his ears. White speaks lowly and his word begin to rumble at the back of his throat, "I'm not to sure at this point. I think that's for you to decide." 

Orange’s heart beats harshly, ridden with surprise and a slight ounce of shock even though he assumed this is what would happen when he kindled his own fire. What a sick fantasy for a man in his position to have. Orange curses himself and his weakened, failing existence. 

There’s a shaky silence between them as White waits for Orange’s faltering courage to return. 

Orange starts, “I-” 

“Go ahead, you’re fine.” 

“This is, quite- a fucking stupid idea.” 

White upturns his lips, suddenly heavy eyed with the slightest charismatic tinge. 

Orange’s eye's start to gloss over and his breathing has gone heavy and wet. He's overwhelmed by the the absolute intensity of White.

Orange straightens in the doorway and White steps back, "Are you gunna fuck me, White?" 

White’s eyes go wide for a split-second, he chuckles roughly at the nuance in Orange’s character. Timid to deprived in a moments time. White raises a hand and brings it to the crook of Orange’s neck. He pushes there, softly, to bring the two of them together. At first, White only lays his lips down on Orange’s, they both absorb the feeling of it and Orange seems to goes loose. They’re overcome with silence and White pulls away to glance at his face, only to return after a split second of thoughtful digestion. This time, he drags his parted lips against Orange's closed one's until Orange mimics the action. They stand there, together, eyes hooded, cautiously roaming over each others mouths. Until, Orange tugs once at White’s lip and he pulls away. 

"White-" Orange groans a bit, he speaks lowly and the drawl in his voice makes White bite down on his tongue. 

White sighs, he takes Orange by the hips and pushes him flat against the door stop.

He watches Orange's lips curl at the force he's starting to show, "Look, listen to me. I got a name, I want you to use it. I’d like you to, just call me La-"

Orange blinks hard in disbelief and his hand reaches up faster than he planned to slap over White's mouth. White's eyes go wide as he’s muffled behind Orange's clammy hands. Orange hisses out at him, "Are you fucking crazy? Don't tell me your name! I don't wanna know it White, we can't go into this like that. Especially if I ain't gunna exchange my goddamn name after you're done. That ain't fair for no one." 

White stares at Orange and his face goes soft. Orange’s mind paces over the fact that he knows who White is. Although, for a moment, Orange hesitates to accept the fact that he wished he truly knew who Lawrence Dimmick was, what else this man lived by besides crime. He wished he could let ‘Larry’ slip out, but the way the knowledge of that name has integrated itself into Orange’s life is something he can't ever share with White. 

Orange’s hand drifts off, it goes limp to the space between both of their chests and White looks up at Orange. White watches Orange and they’re silent for the time being. They sit for a minute, listening to each other breath. Orange slackens against the doorframe behind him. He holds on to White again, cautiously slinks an arm around White’s broad waist. He closes his eyes, digs his hands into White and savors him. While Orange massages into White’s sides, White glances over the long lashes that dust across Orange’s cheekbones. He stands there, silent, to rove his eyes along the expanse of Orange’s exposed skin. Orange feels him stare and he hold his breath while White’s eyes wander. White takes in the freckles across Orange’s temple, on the sides of his cheeks and the lightest of them along his nose. He looks over the small furrows of his brows and the notch in his chin. Orange finally sucks in a breath, breaking White out of the brief trance. 

He wants to speak up, he just doesn’t know what would be best to say. White sees his struggle so he takes the lead instead, "I understand. You don't need to explain yourself. Maybe we should just stop talking-"

"Yeah, maybe."

Orange's lids fall down over his eyes once again. He feels White shuffle from the position they've been situated in for the past long yet few minutes. White's breath drifts over his jaw, along the peak of his cheek and down to his lips. 

Orange stops him, "Take your shirt off." 

Their attention is drawn back to the cream button-up. Orange’s hands drop and White smiles, he begins to work at some of his latched buttons. The first three are already loose, they had been all day and Orange admits that he had taken quick looks at the bare collar bones and crease of White's chest as they sat across from each other earlier this afternoon in the car before the taco shack. 

 

Oranges watches intently as White works lower on the buttons. his shirt slowly hanging loosely along his shoulders and abdomen. They don’t look at each other until the shirt is completely split open. Oranges scrapes his nails along White’s chest while he travels up to his shoulders, pushing under the lapels of the shirt and watches it slip to the ground. Orange hears the clink of White’s belt as he unbuckles it. The vivid image of what he imagines White’s cock to look like flashes past him. He feels a ghosting weight resting along his tongue.

White seems to read his mind after the thought passes, “You want me to fuck your mouth?”

Orange laughs, quite loudly and White doesn’t hesitate to grab Orange tighter. Orange’s face heats up and White can feel him radiate.

“Why would you think that?” 

White grabs onto Orange’s wrists and lays his hands down on his bare chest.

“No reason in particular.”

Orange ponders, trails a finger below White’s left nipple and his thumb pushes down lightly there. White clenches his jaw and watches Orange hands move along his body, never tempting beyond his chest. His voice is tipping on the ragged end - slow, nervous, “Would you wanna see me like that?”

“I definitely can say I wouldn’t be against it.” White chuckles and pulls Orange from the doorstop, he brings his hands down low from his waist and reaches under the curve of his ass. “C’mon, let me get you on the bed.”

Orange pushes into White’s wide hands and steps to the side, where White lets go of him. He leads himself to the mattress and turns to sit. He pulls himself away from the position to lay back and White walks closer to step in front of Orange. Orange sinks into the bed, watching with a tilted head as White works on his belt. It’s pulled away from his belt loops quickly and thrown to the floor with a dull clank. Orange hides a groan behind his tongue when he sees White’s cock through his slacks. 

He bites down nervously on the tip of his tongue. His stomach churns and the burn of rising bile lingers in the back of his throat. ‘You’re an idiot. This is what will get you killed.’ The intrusive thoughts pry him away from his present reality. 

The last time he was able to feel this comfortable with the idea of enjoying being fucked was in high school. He was introduced to the idea of giving and receiving anything with a man before penetration as a sophomore in high school. The boy, a senior only weeks from graduating mainly took advantage of Orange’s weak understanding of his own sexuality. They messed around as long as they were able to share each other’s weed and coke. His vulnerability agreed to do anything the other boy wanted.

This dark, covert time of his life kept him alive. Through neglect and abuse, his tragic past is often forgotten as he learned how to grow into adulthood with functionable depression. He admits that he’s not proud of what had happened but Freddy was too young and naive to understand how he’d ruin himself later on in life. 

He stayed away from any men after that, he barely even had sex with women. When he did, it was quick, sad, and often inflicted through a drunken haze. Nothing there. He had questioned if sex was something he even wanted anymore. If he enjoyed the intimate company of people in general. 

Currently, Orange was fulfilling one of Freddy’s missing links. Projecting himself past this facade of a character to reach someone he’s been subconsciously craving for weeks now. Someone who is twice his age and has lived through more things than he might ever even experience in his entire life. Even if the only thing he’s getting at the moment is empty fervor, he’ll take it willingly.

Orange realizes his eyes have started to mist over from this dense thoughts. White’s already beginning to crouch over Orange on the mattress, blind to Orange's racing minds.

“Take your clothes off for me.” White doesn’t notice the glaze over Orange’s eyes and if he does, Orange thinks he’ll most likely be taking it for lust.

He takes a broken breath and nods. Orange sits up and White raises his legs to rest on his knees in front of Orange on the bed. Orange begins to unbutton his black bowling shirt. The mess of freckles over his shoulders and chest are revealed for White and the older man reaches to glide over the skin with an open palm. 

Freddy struggles to play it cool, desperate for a distraction, “Keep kissing me.” 

White nods once in reponse and pulls Orange over to him, forces him down onto the bed playfully. The bed gives out a hush from the air leaving it under the pressure of Orange and White’s bodies. White’s once pristine bed is somewhat ruined as White tugs a pillow away from the folded blankets to stuff it under Orange’s head. The pillow allows White to have convenient access to Orange’s face and he pushes his own hands under the pillow to comfortably lean over Orange. 

White kisses him; they’re now both sloppy and feverish. Orange grinds up into White and wraps his arms across White’s back, pushes under the back of his slacks’ loose waistline and rests his hand there. He pulls away one hand from the back of White’s pants and bring it between them. White’s sucks along Orange’s bottom lip and licks at his teeth. His free hand clenches and a moan escapes him against his will. White notices the hand and pulls away from Orange, makes space between them, “You wanna get your pants off?”

“No, I wanna- let me see you.” 

Orange’s voice is at a whisper below White’s jaw and he loses eye contact from the embarrassment of his want. Orange’s hands pull away from White’s body and lay at his sides. White doesn’t hesitate to allow him access, he leans up, his slacks are taught against his waist from the pull of the fabric at his knees. The outline of White’s cock through the dark fabric is highly apparent now. He watches Orange’s eyes carve into his every move so he reaches for it, sees how much of Orange's attention he can grab. It rest along the spread of his right thigh, strained beneath his briefs. He goes for the hilt and grasps it, Orange's hands flex by his knees. White gives it a single stroke and returns to the hilt, squeezing the base. He can feel precum pooling at the jut of his inner thigh; anxious excitement rolls over him. 

"You ever had a cock this big?" 

"Oh, Jesus-" the rupturing fit of laughter that comes out of Orange is mainly because of his mortification. He covers his face with one hand and he stops suddenly when he hears no one laughing with him. His mind immediately assumes he's offended White but as his clammy palm leaves his face, he comes face to face with a shit eating grin. He groans at the fact that White is teasing him and he reaches up to put his palm to White's mouth. 

As White is silenced, Orange looks him over, feels White's jaw go slack in his palm, "Ya' like to joke, huh? You haven't shown me your cock yet, how am I s'posed to know whether or not you're the biggest one I've gotten my hands on?"

White muffles a reply to the inside of Orange’s hand that he doesn’t understand, Orange chuckles. White brings a hand up and positions Orange’s fingers along his lips, invites him to push them inside of his mouth. Orange takes a heavy breath and presses them past his lips. White’s teeth part and let two of Orange’s fingers roam along his right canine, past his tongue and over his molars. The action seems invasive and something possessed Orange to move carefully. White lets his mouth hang open and he loosely sticks his tongue past his bottom lip. Orange brings his two fingers down the middle of it. Before Orange can pull away, White grabs his hand and closes his mouth over the fingers with mild pressure. He sucks away the brief sting lingering from the bite and lets Orange’s fingers leave his mouth. Orange’s hand slips away to rest onto White's bicep, where he strokes leisurely. At this point, Orange doesn’t know where his high and lust cross.

"You wanna see then?" White says this mainly to reassure himself, to have a second confirmation that Orange actually wants this, needs this. 

"Keep going." Orange’s voice is calm now but his heart beats fiercely. The artery along his throat jumps every split second He’s practically deafened by his own pulse. White complies and Orange can't seem to wonder if White enjoys it, the slight lack of control. The unravelling of his stoic composition traps and pulls Orange in. 

White plays a torturous game as he goes for his button and fly. The stain of precum over White's boxers is obvious now and Orange won't admit that it makes his mouth water. His hands ball up on the bed. White work quickly to tug down the band of his underwear. They snap at his parted thighs and his now half-hard cock perches in the warm air. 

"You want it, baby?"

"No, let me watch you. I want to watch you." 

Orange watches and White puts on a show. The drag of his tightened fingers over his cock’s bare crown pushes any precum to the pit of his fist and leaks over his fingers. White's process is slow and dreadfully straining. Orange raises his arms to grip at White’s hips. His thumbs massage into the muscle that lies beneath his touch and it tempts White into subconsciously fucking into his fist. 

His knees begin to throb from their position but the soreness is washed away as his stomach curls further into a knot. A knot held tight by the pull of Orange's watchful eye. He wants Orange to tell him something, anything.

White wants to hear him, to cum to his voice.

 

"Stop." 

Orange’s voice is stern and the groan White let's out is earnest, deep from the depths of his belly, "Fucking Christ, kid." 

It's painful, but he does. Orange’s cock is now at full attention and it flinches, searching for White's touch. His hands twitch slightly now, his eyes don't part from White and he can't help but match his breaths with White's shaky ones, the only apparent sound currently filling the room. 

Orange's fingers continue to smooth into White's skin and they stray from White's hips down to his member. He hesitates for a moment, not sure of himself. Orange's touch it light to White's cock. It's cut, thick and heavy in Orange’s palm, below close-cut trimmed hair. On all of his exhales, he can't seem to keep a steady breath and White notices. The dying high shakes his vision but he can’t dispose of the idea that he might just be tearing up.

"It's alright baby, you're doing good. Keep going for me." White's hand searches for Orange's face. 

The left one, uncontaminated by White's precum, finds Orange's chin and he holds on to it calmly. Orange's eyes switch from White's cock over to his face and he nods in reply. His head weighs White's hand down as he leans into it. His hand reeks of weed and he smiles, a reminder that the both of them aren't as sober as they probably should be. His lack of nervousness, as a result of the high, is the excuse he uses to confidentially grip White's cock, with only the slightest of warning. White's back curves forward for a moment and he pushes into the touch. His hand still holds onto Orange's face as he strokes him from base to tip, purposefully circling around his crown, becoming distracted by its possible taste.

Now they're both silent, choked by lust. White looks down on Orange, with a keen sense of protectiveness. White’s head is swimming still, currently lacking the ability to control his focus through the slow drift down from his high. His cock rests in the hands of some inexperienced thief, wide eyed and sprightly. He's jealous of the younger man's prosperity. 

Orange leans down and presses his lips to the pink head of White's cock and grabs his hand from his face to bring it to the crown of his skull. He leans into the loose palm, “Pull-- please.” 

His mouth goes slack for White and his tongue is ripe and welcoming. White pulls, softly and Orange hums; he understands what Orange wants but he tests the severity of it. He slips his cock into Orange's mouth and grips at the hair between his fingers to feel Orange's groan vibrate along the base of his cock. 

Past the open door behind them, the setting sun looms down the hallway through the shutter shades over the kitchen windows. The change in light darkens the rest of the of the apartment in a warming orange. Orange’s eyes close against the shifting light and he opens up further for White. They’re both calm and entranced through the fog of sex. White’s skin is hot with the scent of smoke and Orange takes it in like a rush of caffeine. Orange places his hand above the peak of his hips and leads White through the rhythm of things. 

Orange begins to realize sex with White is a spellbound teaspoon of honey. Not only has he fulfilled a level of vulnerability previously unknown to him, but he now begins to accept the trance of want that's completely snuck past Orange and directly impacted Freddy. 

He feels heat drain out with his last ounce of patience and goes to hold steadily onto the base of White’s cock. White lowers the grip of his fists in Orange’s hair to his neck, he massages roughly and eases him on. 

“You can cum in my mouth- I mean, if you’d like to.” Orange clenches his jaw in embarrassment, he could’ve let it go. 

White responds with a softening chortle, amused by the sudden switch in the atmosphere. He twitches painfully, thick with a strong pulse and pushes forward in Orange’s direction. Orange notes the silent plea and returns his mouth to White, playing along the arching bow of his cock. His jaw is all too suddenly grasped between a stingingly strong thumb and index finger. The digits search for the split of his bottom teeth from his top through his flushed cheeks. They widen Orange’s jaw and he sits agape for White, waiting to be filled. White pushes past Orange’s unbound lips, rolls his hips through heightened waves of lust. He pauses at times to push back the drifting hairs framing Orange’s face or to wipe beads of sweat away from his brow. 

White watches on from above as Orange’s face splotches with a fiery red, still visible past the dimming, natural light from outside. His pace quickens and he groans as Orange hums in response, awaking a throbbing through his belly and down his legs. Orange’s nostrils flare for oxygen, struggling but fighting through White’s calculated push and pull. 

“Baby, fuck-”

White’s grip returns to Orange’s jaw and Orange pulls away from the pressing thrusts. He reaches for White’s cock, grasping it through White’s peaking orgasm. His mouth returns to White’s crown, his sucking runs unanimously with his spit-slicked hand. Orange moans, straining through his jeans over White’s own pleasure. Knowingly, Orange halts for White’s silent climax. The older man breath shakes past clenched teeth, he grips at Orange’s jaw and absorbs the whitening of the skin under the rough pads of his fingertips. He cums partly over Orange’s spread tongue before pulling away from his mouth to finish atop his swollen lips. 

Orange gasps over the shocking heat, closes his eyes and steadies his breath. Past his shut eyes, White thumbs at the cum splayed across his lower face, pushing it to Orange’s loosened lips. He watches hungrily as Orange’s tongue darts out languidly, licking along his thumb, taking in the last of him. 

Immediately, as his eyes switch open, Orange is flooded with guilt. Aware of his all too lucid fantasy finally coming alive. His thoughts are deterred by the push of White’s body, weighing him down into the disheveled bed. Their knees are bent and tangles while White peppers the heated skin of his neck in kisses. 

“So terribly mad for you.” White’s voice is muffled under his sincere touching. Orange breathes roughly through the lovingly-noxious attention. He’s drowning in fear, completely afraid of how horribly he’ll ruin this play of events in the coming weeks. Orange’s eyes brim with tears, he clenches them, praying they’ll be mistook for lust. White searches his mouth, kisses him softly, ignorant to Orange’s turmoil. 

His hand finds the pinned man’s bare stomach between their dampened skin. Brokenly, Orange speaks up, “You don’t have to.” 

White looks down to Orange, brows knitted from concern, “You don’t ever have to be unsure around me, baby. I want you to feel good.” Orange blushes in shame, nods and grinds into White as he continues. He returns to the dip of Orange’s neck, finds the younger mans cock and presses into all the right places. They grip and grind along one another until Orange is cumming into White’s fist and along his freckle-dusted belly. He moans lowly into White’s hair, gripping crescent indents into his left side, his right hand wringing out the bed sheet. White leans away, straddles his lower thighs and rests a spread out palm to the quick rise and fall of Orange’s chest. 

Orange eases his grip from the edge on the bed sheets, melting into the bed. An arm slinks to his back to pull him closer to White.

On the bedside table, the phone rings violently. White is shocked away from Orange, “Jesus.” He reaches for the obnoxious device, pulling it from the receiver on the second ring. 

“Hello, White here.” 

Orange listens to the buzzing voice on the other end of the line, tries to puzzle the odd tones back into words. 

“I’m here with Orange, Joe.” There’s a pause, more buzzing speech. “The cigar dive? In Downtown or Carson?” 

Orange looks down at his vulnerable state then back at White, who avoids eye contact as he speaks with Joe. His lust-filled, humble tone is gone as his pre-fixed, professionally deep voice returns. 

“We’ll be there in about half an hour, sound good? Anything else?” 

Joe replies quickly and ends the call. White reaches back over to receiver and drops the phone, sighs and scrubs at his face. 

“Sorry-” 

“It’s okay.” 

White takes a deep breath and reaches to wipe off Orange finally with the bedsheet. He readjusts his own boxers and leans down to press his lips against Orange’s collarbone, “Back to business, yeah?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see you guys in two years (joking, hopefully)

**Author's Note:**

> main tumblr/ig: ozirj  
> fandom tumblr: ri-z


End file.
